


getting down to business

by etben



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Canon Compliant, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-15
Updated: 2019-05-15
Packaged: 2020-03-05 16:34:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18832450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/etben/pseuds/etben
Summary: They’ve been dating for almost a month, and Patrick still hasn’t even seen David naked, much less had anything approaching sex.  It’s completely unacceptable.  He had more game than this in high school, which is pretty sad, all things considered.Three and a half weeks of his hands and his imagination is more than enough, thanks.OR:  David and Patrick have some alone time.  Patrick has some ideas.





	getting down to business

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to A & A for cheerleading and telling me what wasn't working, and to J, world's best alpha-reader, for helping me figure out whose hands were where.

Immediately after Stevie leaves, strawberries in hand, David turns to Patrick.

“You don’t have to do this,” he says. “We’re taking it slow—”

“David.” Patrick steps in close and rests his hand on the side of David’s neck. “It’s good,” he says softly. “I’m ready.” He leans and kisses David gently.

“See, you say that,” David says, “but then two weeks from now you’re regretting all of this and proposing to Twyla in a frantic grab at heterosexuality!”

“That seems—really very unlikely,” Patrick says. He doesn’t really want to get into his past attempts at heterosexuality right now; fortunately, there’s a customer at the door, so he just kisses David once more, firmly, and says, “we’ll talk later, just—trust me?”

***

The thing is, Patrick told David that he needed to take things slowly, and he meant it, he honestly did. They’d kissed all of twice, and suddenly David was inviting himself over for a sleepover, and it was all just—it was a lot. Everything felt new and terrifying, and Patrick felt like he was drowning, a little, and he asked for space.

And David, to his credit, backed off. Like, _way_ off. Like...maybe too much.

There’s slow, but then there’s _glacial_. It’s been three and a half weeks, and this afternoon was the farthest they’ve gone: David pressing him gently against the back wall of the storeroom, his mouth warm and wet against Patrick’s neck, Patrick’s hands sliding up under his sweater. Between the store, David’s family, and Ray’s penchant for interrupting, they can barely find the time for some heavy petting before someone is storming in with a crisis or a question or a complaint.

They’ve been dating for almost a month, and Patrick still hasn’t even seen David naked, much less had anything approaching sex. It’s completely unacceptable. He had more game than this in high school, which is pretty sad, all things considered.

Three and a half weeks of his hands and his imagination is more than enough, thanks.

***

Then, of course, they get to Stevie’s apartment, and what seemed like an entry-level exercise in awkwardness ( _yeah, no problem, just borrowing my boyfriend’s best-friend-slash-former-hookup’s apartment so we can mess around, like you do_ ) quickly escalates.

“I knew you had a rich dating history, David,” he says, “but I just—I didn’t expect to be graced by the presence of _two_ of your exes tonight.” 

“Yeah, funny thing,” David says, “neither did I, so.” 

Which is fair, honestly. 

Patrick’s not even jealous of David, or not really; Jake’s not his type, and seems like kind of a jerk besides. It’s more the fact of David’s experience, the reminder that while Patrick was trying to make it work with Rachel for the fifth and the seventh and the tenth time, David was having all kinds of sex, most of it probably amazing, with people he was actually attracted to. He doesn’t begrudge David those experiences; he just wishes he’d had that.

“But,” Patrick says. He’s here now, isn’t he? He can try to sort through his feelings about David’s history any night. “Given that we only have the apartment for one night, maybe it’s best if we—lock that box back up for now?”

“I think that’s a good idea.” David leans in for a kiss, then breaks off, saying, “you know, we didn’t even get in to _your_ history—”

“Lock it up, David,” Patrick says, and pulls him close.

***

Here is what Patrick did the day he realized he had a crush on David Rose:

• Went for a hike  
• Jerked off  
• Had a beer  
• Made a list  
• Jerked off again

Patrick’s a methodical guy. He likes lists and systems and things that fit together; he likes having a plan and sticking to it. That’s how he got through business school; that’s how he got the grants for Rose Apothecary; that’s how he got David to date him. He researches, he makes a plan, and he makes it happen.

Granted, in this case his “research” was mostly conducted between the hours of 10 and 11 pm, headphones in, door firmly shut, watching grainy video and thinking _oh, yes, that_ , but the point stands. Planning is important, and Patrick is an excellent planner.

At this point, his plan has been pared down again and then again, from the wildest-dream scenarios—a weekend away, a king-size bed, a bottle of champagne—to this: Stevie’s apartment, a glass of whiskey going warm in his hand, David Rose leaning in to give him a kiss that is simultaneously heartbreakingly sweet and absolutely filthy.

The plan is: get naked. Get David naked. Get his hands—and ideally, his mouth—on David’s dick.

...that’s pretty much as far as his plan goes, but Patrick’s not worried. He’s got a good feeling about this.

***

“Okay,” David says, pulling back from where he’s leaning over Patrick on the bed, “but honestly, I just—are you sure?” He’s flushed and breathing heavily, his hair falling into his face; it’s a good look. Less good is the hesitation in his eyes, like he’s just waiting for Patrick to decide that, really, he’s not actually that into this at all.

“David.” Patrick waits until David makes eye contact. “I want this. Thank you so much for respecting my boundaries—” he leans up to brush his hand against David’s cheek, then uses that hand to grab his shoulder and flip them over, straddling David’s hips and pinning him to the bed, “I am definitely one hundred percent ready.” David squirms under him, biting at his lip, and Patrick squeezes his knees a little tighter, feeling the warmth of David underneath him. “I mean, it’s been almost a month—”

“Which is totally reasonable and not anything you should be worried about—”

“—and I would really, really like it if we could get somebody’s pants off tonight, at the very least.” Patrick braces his weight and rubs back against the bulge in David’s jeans, then leans in to kiss the strangled noise that David makes.

“Oh,” David says, between kisses. “ _Somebody’s_ pants, hmm.” He slides his hands up Patrick’s sweater, tugging it up past his shoulders and over his head. “Any particular preferences about that? I think we can call Stevie and Jake back—oh, or Mutt, you haven’t met Mutt yet, he’s very handsome if you like them homeless—” He breaks off in a breathless little _hmmm_ as Patrick finishes yanking his sweater off, tossing it somewhere over towards the kitchen. “Or maybe your pants?”

“That was more my thought, yes,” Patrick agrees. “And yours.”

“Two pairs of pants, Patrick Brewer, you certainly do think big—”

***

There’s a legal pad back in Patrick’s room, tucked behind the pile of library books next to the nightstand with its pages firmly facing the wall. On the last page of that pad, there’s a list. He’d thought about doing it on the computer—he could password-protect it, hide the file in folders with innocuous names—but something about this feels better, the immediacy of pen and paper.

It’s not much of a list, so far: just the things he’s been thinking about, for this—for them. He adds things as he thinks of them, mostly late at night, sometimes on his day off. _hickies — maybe? (unprofessional?)_ is the most recent entry, right under _handjobs — yes_ and _anal — ??? (research best practices)_.

Patrick’s hoping to get rid of a few question marks, tonight.

***

“How do you feel about oral?” It takes a minute for the question to sink in; they’re finally down to boxers, and Patrick is satisfying a deep-seated urge to taste the inside of David’s elbow. Once it does, though, he drops his head to David’s chest, breathing out slowly against the skin over his ribs.

“I—yeah,” he says, swallowing hard, thinking of the list. “I feel—very positively. About that.” David’s laugh vibrates under his lips, a sweet, generous sound.

“Excellent,” he says. “So I think the best thing will be—you come up here, and then I’ll just—” He’s pushing at Patrick’s shoulders, which doesn’t make sense, unless—

“Oh,” Patrick says, understanding. “I mean, yes, definitely yes, but—I was thinking more.” He looks up at David. “For you.”

He can see the idea go through David like an electric current; can see, too, how David breathes deep and then takes that desire and folds it down, sets it aside.

“That’s very sweet of you.” David puts a hand against Patrick’s face, and Patrick leans into it. “And now that I’m saying that out loud, I realize how condescending it sounds, ugh, but, just—” He sighs. “This is your first time,” he says, softly. “I want it to be good for you.”

“Okay, but.” Patrick hesitates. “What about what I want?”

“Right, but, like, do you even _know_ what you want? Because not everybody likes it, even—which is fine, obviously, that’s not a dealbreaker or anything, just, you might not—”

“David.” Patrick rubs his cheek against David’s chest, smiling when David shivers. “I’ve had blowjobs before.”

“I,” David says. “Yes, but—”

“I’ve thought about it a lot,” Patrick continues. “I think that’s something I’d like to do. With you,” he prompts, when David doesn’t say anything. “Ideally, sometime in the near future.”

“God, okay,” David says, dropping back against the pillows with one hand over his face. “I just want the record to show that I tried to be a good person, I honestly did.”

“Noted,” Patrick says. “And, I mean, I’m not promising that I’ll be amazing,” he adds, shrugging. “You’ve definitely had better.”

David pulls his hands away from his face just so Patrick can see him roll his eyes. “Okay, that’s just—that’s such an oversimplification, it’s not a simple binary rating system—”

“So you’ll fill out a comment card,” Patrick tells him. “For now, though, do you think you could let me suck your dick?”

“...I could do that,” David says, his voice dry and creaky, his eyes huge. “I—yeah, I could do that. Yes.”

“Okay, then,” Patrick scoots backwards and drops his head to David’s side to kiss the thin skin over his hipbone. “I appreciate your cooperation.”

“First of all, fuck you,” David says. “Here I am, trying to be nice, and you’re just—fuck.” He shifts his hips, letting Patrick tug his boxers down. “Fuck, _Patrick_ —”

“Don’t worry,” Patrick says, wrapping his hand around the base of David’s dick and leaning in. “I think you’re very nice.” He licks at the head gently, testing, then again. Salt, skin, a hint of the fancy soap David makes them special-order. He glances up at David, who’s watching with one hand over his mouth; the second their eyes meet, David drops his head back onto the pillows, dragging his hands through his hair.

“Fuck, you hate it, I’m sorry, this was a terrible idea, I’m a monster—” He breaks off with a groan as Patrick goes back in for another taste, folds his lips over his teeth and sucks gently.

It’s even better than Patrick could have imagined: the weight of David in his mouth, the texture of him, the taste, the way his thighs tremble when Patrick goes down a little further. It’s a bit of a challenge, logistically, keeping track of everything, but in a way that makes Patrick feel powerful, a little bit competitive, hot and buzzing with excitement.

Above him, David whines, and Patrick pulls back, running his thumb up the underside of David’s dick. He drags the nails of his left hand down David’s thigh, scratching gently, and David shivers.

“You okay up there?”

“I—yes.” David wipes a hand over his face. “I’m—fuck, how are you even asking that question?” He laughs and shakes his head. “You’re going to kill me; I’m going to die without ever meeting Michelle Obama and I won’t even regret it—”

“Oh, well, we wouldn’t want that,” Patrick says. “Maybe I should—”

“If you stop, I’ll—” David closes his eyes and heaves out a deep breath. “I will be perfectly fine with that, obviously, because you should only do what you want to do and pressuring people into sex is gross, but—god, Patrick, _please_ —”

Patrick leans back in and licks his way up David’s dick, sucks as much of it as he can manage into his mouth. David’s leaking kind of a lot, and between that and the spit, everything is wet and messy and disgustingly, viscerally good. Everything he does gets a reaction from David: a sigh, a shiver, a bitten-off moan, a hand clenched in the sheets next to his hip. Patrick’s jaw aches and it’s a weird angle for his neck; he never wants to stop.

Eventually, though, David’s hands land on his shoulders, pushing him away, and Patrick pulls back. David gets one hand around his dick and shudders violently, his back arching, eyes shut, before relaxing into the bed, boneless.

“Okay,” he says after a moment. “That was—” he shakes his head.

“Regrets?”

“Regrets? Are you kidding me? That was—” David’s eyes come back into focus and he stares at Patrick. “That was spectacular and you know it, oh my god, I hate you, you fucking menace, you—what are you doing?” Patrick tightens his grip on David’s wrist, tugging until he can get his mouth on David’s fingers. The taste is odd, but not bad, and the sound David makes is _incredible_.

“Nope, nuh-uh, no way,” David says. “I mean, yes, absolutely, but just—get up here, right now, please, thank you.” His hands are grabby and insistent as he draws Patrick back up the bed, and Patrick lets himself be drawn.

***

David’s hands were one of the first things Patrick noticed about him. He talks with them, obviously, and the rings add a certain level of flash. For a while, that was it: just another aspect of the David Rose Experience, all glitz and drama.

Working at the store, Patrick has seen the gentleness of David’s hands: smoothing a label onto a jar of applesauce, arranging the fruit displays, adjusting a string of reclaimed sea-glass beads to hang just so. David’s hands on his face, tentative, achingly soft, bringing him close for their first kiss.

Recently, though, Patrick’s been thinking about other things: David’s hands in his belt loops, tugging Patrick over to murmur in his ear. David’s hands in his hair, in the back room of the shop, tilting Patrick’s head to the side while he bites at Patrick’s neck, his stubble rough and electric, lighting up Patrick’s nerves. David’s hands digging into his sides, pulling Patrick into him as they gasp into each others’ mouths.

David has big hands, is the thing.

*** 

They wind up with David leaning against the headboard, pillows piled up behind him to cushion him from the poles of the headboard.

“And now you just—here, yeah,” David says. “Like that.” Patrick’s back is against David’s chest, tucked in to the vee of David’s legs. “This okay?” David has one hand pressed against Patrick’s thigh, the other warm and heavy on Patrick’s hip. He dips his thumb under the elastic of Patrick’s boxers and tugs gently.

“Yeah, that’s—” It’s hard to think with David’s hands on him; Patrick bites at the inside of his cheek to clear his head. “That’s good.”

“Mmm, it is.” David’s voice is right in his ear like this, David’s chin scraping gently against his pulse. “And the best part,” David adds, trailing his lips down Patrick’s neck, “is that we’re not at work, which means I get to do _this_.” He bites gently at Patrick’s shoulder, sucks at the skin, worries at it with his mouth, all while his hands continue their slow, lazy tour of Patrick’s legs and hips.

“I don’t mind it generally,” Patrick says. “I just think that, when we’re at work, we should be professional.” His voice shakes a little on the last word, and he can feel David smiling against his skin.

“Professional, sure,” David says. “That’s me, one hundred percent—just, what if we got rid of these?” He taps his fingers against the waistband of Patrick’s boxers. “Would that be professional, do you think?” He doesn’t make Patrick answer, just slips his fingers down to ease the elastic over Patrick’s dick, helping Patrick kick them off and then settle back with his legs splayed over David’s. It’s a little awkward to be spread out like this—exposed, vulnerable—but it’s also incredibly hot.

Then David’s hands are on Patrick’s dick, just the barest hint of contact, the pads of his fingers gliding gently up and down, circling the head. Even that much is overwhelming, too much and not enough all at once, the brush of skin and David’s slow, deep breath in his ear.

“Oh, that’s good,” David says. “You’re so good, Patrick, fuck.” He lifts his hand up and licks it; the sound is filthy and electrifying.

“Pretty sure that’s my line,” Patrick starts to say, but then David’s hand is back on his dick, setting up a slow, lazy rhythm, all slick friction and pressure. It’s good, it’s so good; Patrick can hardly breathe for how good it is. He’s jerked off plenty of times—more often than usual, over the past few weeks—but none of it compares to David’s hand, warm and capable, pulling and stroking and teasing. Patrick drops his head back against David’s shoulder, groaning, and hitches his hips up to meet David’s fist.

“God, fuck, you’re gorgeous, you’re unbelievable.” It’s too much, suddenly; Patrick twists his head around until he can kiss David. The angle is awkward, but the kiss is incandescent, slick and deep and dirty. David’s hand comes up to brush against the side of Patrick’s neck, steadying him, and—oh. _Oh_.

“Oh, _fuck_ ,” David says, when Patrick licks over his knuckles. “Oh, oh—” Patrick sucks David’s fingers deeper and tilts his head to get the angle he wants, drags his tongue against the pads of David’s fingertips. David’s hand is shaking; Patrick steadies his wrist, sucks harder, lets his eyes fall closed.

“Okay!” Suddenly the fingers are gone, and Patrick hears himself make an indescribable noise. “Shh, no, I know, just, if I don’t get my hands on you right now I may actually die?” David’s hands are slick and deliberate on his dick, and then one of them drops lower to brush firmly across Patrick’s hole.

“Let me know if—just let me know,” David says, and god, Patrick likes him so much, but stopping is the last thing on his mind right now. He’s tried this himself—late nights in bed, early mornings in the shower, fighting to keep his mouth closed around the feeling—but this is a whole new level. David isn’t even doing anything much, just rubbing slowly around Patrick’s hole, gentle and insistent, while he twists his other hand over the head of Patrick’s dick. Patrick groans, then bites his lip when David grabs his thigh to spread his legs further. “Yeah?”

“David, I—” The tip of David’s finger presses into him and Patrick loses the thread of his sentence for a moment. “Yes, oh—” it comes out almost a gasp, “fuck, yes.” It’s so intense, even just this, and then David presses deeper and Patrick wants, he needs, “Can you—more?”

David makes a wild noise, all frantic vowel sounds; he presses his mouth against Patrick’s shoulder in a messy kiss and then promptly bites him. It stings like fuck and it feels incredible.

“God, you’re amazing,” and then one finger is two, just barely inside him, pressure and fullness and David’s voice in his ear, “Come on, yes, give it to me, just like that—” It’s impossible to stay still, and Patrick thrusts once and then again, forward into David’s fist and back against his fingers, rolling his hips until he loses the rhythm, falling apart, surrounded by David.

***

“So that was a yes, I think.” David’s voice is soft and his hands are gentle against Patrick’s side, guiding him to lie flat. “I mean—” he fusses with the sheets until they’re tucked in up to their chins, the two of them curled facing each other. “Yes?”

“Do you even have to ask? Yes,” Patrick adds, as David opens his mouth. “Obviously, yes.” He leans in, brushes his lips soft and sweet against David’s. They’ve kissed plenty over the past few weeks, for lack of the time or privacy to do anything more, and every kiss has been different: soft kisses, hungry kisses, laughing kisses. After-sex kisses are all lazy satisfaction and slow, lush sweeps of tongue; Patrick’s not quite sure, but they may be his favorite yet.

After a while, though, David pulls back, looking away. His hair is falling across his face, sweaty and disheveled, and Patrick lifts a hand to stroke it back. David leans into the touch and kisses Patrick’s wrist, but doesn’t look up.

“David?”

“It’s just—that wasn’t very slow, I guess, but—”

“David.” It takes David a minute to make eye contact; when he does, he’s making the face he makes when he’s trying to brace himself for bad news. “David, that was _incredible_. That was—” he shakes his head. “Let’s just say that we hit a lot of things on my list, okay?”

“List?” David’s eyes are dark and intent. “What list? I didn’t know there was a list.” He hesitates. “Am I on the list?”

He’s ridiculous; he’s amazing. “David, you _are_ the list,” Patrick says, and watches a smile break over David’s face.

**Author's Note:**

> *shows up to a new fandom two years late with iced coffee and pornography*
> 
> hello, fellow kids!


End file.
